Serendipity
by Wilusa
Summary: Sofie finds a mislaid object, which may come in very handy.


DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.

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_He'd left something behind._

_Pitching in to help with the carnival's hasty preparations for departure, he'd laid it aside. Then he'd been sure it was in a certain trailer - and for the time being, it could stay there. They had to be on their way._

_But it wasn't in the trailer_.

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Sofie Bojakshiya watched a half-dozen nervous "Knights of Jericho" - whom she'd rounded up and whipped into a semblance of order - carry an unconscious Justin Crowe up the hill to the house. She was sure he wouldn't come to for an hour or so, by which time he'd be safe in his own bed.

She was already thinking of explanations. She'd refastened his shirt, hidden every trace of blue blood, before letting the men near him. They would have to acknowledge a connection between his partial healing - all that was possible, under the circumstances - and the dead corn. But she'd suggest that God Himself had intervened to perform that miraculous healing of His servant, once his attacker, the carnies' fake "healer," was out of the way. No miracle for the carny!

Only she would know Justin had actually been dead, and before making use of the corn, she'd revived him by reaching out with her mind to kill an already injured, unconscious Varlyn Stroud.

Now she turned and strode back to the one tent the carnies had abandoned, their largest. Frightened New Canaanites had told her hair-raising stories about what had happened inside. And despite some twelve hours having passed, no one had dared approach it. She was the first.

The absence of police was easily explained: Iris controlled the only phone in New Canaan. She probably meant to claim, when she eventually called them, that she'd been "in shock." But Sofie guessed she'd really promised not to do it till the carnival was well on its way.

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Even before she entered what she couldn't help thinking of as the Ten-in-One, she smelled the blood.

She was surprised to find only four bodies inside. Evidently, no one had been trampled in the rush to escape. But the four dead had been viciously slashed. By Justin, of course - with the scythe she'd found in the cornfield and had already, quickly, secreted in the house.

_She_ knew a moment of _real_ shock when she discovered one of the dead was Norman Balthus - and another, a child. But soon, she was coldly considering the ramifications.

_Justin did this in a frenzy. I know him - better, for some reason, than I did before all this happened. He'll be appalled when he realizes he actually killed Reverend Balthus, and a little boy._

_He'll be a wreck, for months. And while he is, I'll be able to make him hopelessly dependent on __**me**_.

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She'd meant to go directly from the tent to the house. But she found herself drawn to the road. The one the carnies had taken when they left.

Their ragtag caravan was miles away by now. Yet she stood gazing after them. _My other life_...

When she killed Varlyn Stroud, she'd made a choice. There was someone else she could have picked: wounded, unconscious, temptingly close by.

A barely-alive Ben Hawkins.

_What moved me to kill Stroud and not Ben? Stroud, if he lived, would've been a more immediate thorn in my side...but was that all?_

_Is that why I'm standing here? Because I can't put Ben out of my mind?_

_Or is there some other reason -?_

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And then she saw it. An object lying beside the road.

She walked over to it. _Yes, it is what I thought_.

She'd heard rumors about it, for years.

After all she'd been through in the last twenty-four hours, her dress was in tatters. She tore one sleeve completely off, and ripped it into two pieces, so she could pick up the object - holding it in two different places - without touching it with her hands. _No one's likely to take my fingerprints, but it's best to be on the safe side_.

It took her only a moment to confirm that the rumors were true.

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Minutes later, Sofie was back in the tent.

There was so much blood that even after twelve hours, she was able to smear some on her find. _Yes, that should work perfectly_.

Big-city police might realize the smear hadn't been made while the blood was fresh, but the ones who'd come from nearby Mintern weren't likely to be that good.

They'd readily accept that all this carnage had been wrought with a _sword cane_...sized for use by a dwarf.

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The End


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